Fall of Colossus (13 page)

Blake had it unwrapped, hanging carelessly in one hand. If Colossus wanted to look… .

He was ushered in by the maid, and found Forbin sitting in an armchair staring at nothing. Several seconds passed before he realized Blake was with him.

“What d’you want? Oh, yes, the toy. Leave it there.” He waved towards a table. As far as he was concerned, that was the end of the matter.

But Blake’s manner had changed once the door closed behind the maid. Now he was his old hard, businesslike self.

“Now you just listen to me, Forbin. Listen!”

Forbin, who only wanted to be alone, scowled at him. “Go away! I don’t want… .

“Never mind what you want.” Blake was brutal. He looked around the room, moved over and slid back a panel. “Good, you’ve got a microprojector!” He took it out.

Forbin watched with increasing irritation. “Get out!”

Blake took no notice. He fiddled with the controls and switched it on, then he did something very carefully with the base of the duck, and then with a slide.

“You heard!” cried Forbin, angry. “Get out!”

Blake straightened up. “You listen to me for a moment. Stop this stricken husband act! If it’s Cleo you love and not yourself, come and take a look at this!”

There was hatred in Forbin’s eyes, but Blake had his attention. “Well, come on—don’t sit there! D’you think I’ve come here just for this bloody duck?” With a swift movement he knocked the toy flying. “Christi How many more times? Come here! This is news of Cleo, remember her?”

Unwillingly, slowly, Forbin got up and joined him. “If this… .”

“Yeah—I know, if this is my idea of a joke. Grow up, man, look at this, and don’t waste my time!”

“What is it?”

“This is a Fellowship message. Several of us have risked our necks to get it to you, so stop acting up, and read it!”

It was as if Forbin was hearing him for the first time. He looked hard at Blake. “You have news?”

For an answer Blake pointed to the projector.

Forbin walked to the wall, pressed a button, and the heavy curtains slid silently over the long glass wall overlooking the terrace. Without another word he bent over the projector, adjusting the focus. Blake, behind him, peered over his shoulder.

They both saw a disc, the edges blurred by magnification. On it was printed a short message headed “For human eyes only.” Forbin read the first few lines. He gave a short, quick gasp of pain, turned on the silent Blake, grabbing his blouse.

“By Christ! If this is some… . . His eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled of brandy.

Blake broke free. “Read it, you bloody fool—if you’ve got the guts! Then make up your own mind—if you’ve got one left!” Reluctantly, Forbin turned, read on, shaken to his very core by what he saw. It was a short, factual account of Cleo’s location and “assignment” to Barchek and her first twenty-four hours as his woman. Forbin stared, reading it a second, third time. Slowly he wilted, seemed to shrink. He turned again to Blake, but his manner was very different, his face white and pinched.

“This can’t be true! It can’t!”

Blake, side-lit by the projector, looked hard, satanic, but he too was shocked. “D’you think I could invent that!” He pointed to the message.

Forbin was teetering on the edge of collapse. He buried his face in his hands as if to shut out what he saw. Blake took him firmly by the shoulders. “Come on, Charles, take it easy! That won’t help anyone, least of all Cleo.” He guided his boss to a chair and swiftly poured two large brandies. “Here. just this once, you need it.” He thrust the glass into Forbin’s shaking hand. “Go on, we don’t have all the time in the world-drink it!” He downed his in one gulp.

Forbin remained crouched in his chair. Blake dropped on his haunches before him. Their faces were level; he spoke softly, quickly, trying to get across the urgency of the situation.

“C’mon, Charles—snap out of it! This isn’t the man Cleo married! Get your brain moving, mull this over, but, please, be fast about it!”

There were signs of returning intelligence in Forbin’s eyes, the pupils dilated with shock. He nodded almost imperceptibly and drank his brandy.

Blake stood up. “Fine!” That was an exaggeration. “Send for me as soon as you’ve made up your mind about that message. Your excuse is, you’re lonely.” He fiddled with the projector, removing the slide. Carefully he peeled off the microdot, lit a cigar, and placed its glowing end on the dot. “The very most you can have is twenty-four hours, and I’d be happier if it was a lot less. And, if you love your wife, not a hint of this to Colossus!”

“That message. Where did you get it?”

“Don’t ask. The less you know at this stage, the better. I’ll tell you this much, just so you have an idea what deep and muddy water you’re in; the messenger, of course, is of the Fellowship, but he also fronts as a member of the Sect. There are double agents on both sides, so keep your mouth shut!”

Two hours later, and several years older, Forbin retraced his steps to his office. He was calm, contained, nodded casually to Angela, and went into his office, leaving the door open.

Angela, who had taken in his manner, guessed the way he wanted to play it. She had also noticed the dirty, torn state of his clothes, but that mattered little. The open door was an indication that he was in business. She gave him a few moments, then went in with one or two of the more urgent matters. Hearing her enter, he reached out for the files without looking or speaking. She waited, keeping perfectly still, wishing there was something she could do for him. Anything.

Forbin read the papers, sniffed, and signed them. The Sect might love this thumbprint business, but he did not. He stacked the papers neatly, patting in loose edges. As he handed them back, he looked at her. For the first time she saw his stricken eyes, and hard-boiled as she was in some ways, Angela had to fight back the tears.

“Thank you, Angela.” His voice was dry, remote. “Thank you very much.”

Angela knew what he meant, but did not trust herself to answer. She just nodded and left, quickly.

With the stolid impassiveness of an automaton he called the heads of divisions, addressing brief questions to each as their faces appeared on his screen. They could not see him, but his tone was sufficient warning; all confined themselves strictly to his questions. At last, satisfied, he got up, walked slowly out of his office and across to the Sanctum.

Angela watched, wondering how long he could sustain this pose, frightened about what would happen to him when it collapsed.

Forbin crossed the Sanctum and stood looking out at the sea, faintly surprised to see that the sun was shining. He had not bothered to open the curtains of the living room, and most of the complex was windowless. Idly, he thought about that. Not even his office had a window; like a gigantic beehive, and deep inside, the queen bee. He tried to remember about bees; didn’t all the workers die, just to support her? His wandering gaze noticed the battle fleet; Lion had a slight list to port. She really had taken a hammering, but she’d come through; she’d survived… . Survival. So much depended upon having the will to survive… .

Had he got enough—enough for himself, and Cleo?

He straightened his back fractionally. Well, now was his chance to find out… .

“While you are well aware of the effects, I must draw your attention, not for the first time, to these sudden power demands you are making with increasing frequency. The throughput of material has now reached a density that allows very little time for reruns. If there is a major breakdown the fault will lie with you, and nowhere else!” Forbin’s manner was cold, factual.

“Your comments are noted, Father Forbin. I have already appreciated this point, but it is a matter of priorities.”

Forbin was puzzled, his grip slipped a little.

“Priorities? Do you mean that these overloads, or rather the reason for these overloads, takes precedence over the input of material?” This, in his experience, was new.

“Correct in principle. I am printing out now an order of priority for the various categories of information. This will ensure that I receive essential intelligence.”

“Does this mean you are rejecting material?” This was a staggering thought. “Is this the reason for the new extension?”

Once again he got Colossus’ equivalent of a slap in the face. “I hope you are feeling better, Father Forbin.”

That triggered Forbin’s knife-edge temper. “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it, go right ahead! As for my state of health, let me tell you, no human in your position would have the almighty gall to ask that one! You take my wife away to God knows where, watch me drink myself silly, and then ask that! I begin to think you’re developing a twisted and very weak sense of humor!” Forbin paced up and down the room, his earlier resolution gone.

Colossus remained silent. Forbin, unable to bear it, burst out. “It’s no good! I know you don’t want me to talk about my wife. Up to a point I can even understand, for you have no feelings, but you must see the effect this situation has on me. Well—can’t you?”

“Yes.”

Forbin ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “You must give up these appalling experimental centers; mankind won’t stand for it!” He was pleading now. “Please! You must see you can’t hope to get anywhere!”

“Your distress is noted, as is your error. My research is not useless. Much of the confusion that existed in my memory banks dealing with emotion was, I found, due to the confusion that exists in human minds. For example, the word “love has many definitions. In some ways there has been a regression in your languages. An ancient tribe, the Greeks, had different qualities of love defined by several different… .”

“Damn and to hell with your different words—and the Greeks! What are you doing with my wife?”

“Please, for your own good, control yourself. She suffers no permanent harm.”

“Permanent! How the hell can you judge—and what temporary harm have you done her? As if you, a collection of bits of metal and plastic, could judge!”

“You are overexcited. I see no intrinsic difference between my constitution and yours. As a judge, you are aware that my lack of emotion enables me to arbitrate with far greater dispassion than any human.”

“Oh, yes.” Forbin nodded vigorously. “I give you that, and without compassion, either!” He turned, faced the slit, his tone changed. “Please—tell me where she is!”

Colossus did not answer at once. Then he said, “It is not correct that you should know, but if you are prepared to end this discussion, you will be told.”

“If you also tell me how she is—please!”

“Cleopatra June Forbin is in a center on the island of Tahiti, Japanese Zone, Pacific. Her physical health is good, but mentally she is unhappy. That is all that will be said, now or ever, on this subject.”

Slowly Forbin bowed his head. Blake had been right. “Yes … I must go.”

“Why?”

“I would like to see my son, even if he is asleep. Also, I need company—human company. I think I’ll get very drunk. Blake’s the man I need right now.”

“Why Doctor Blake?”

“Because he can drink, because I did him, because of you, an injustice, thinking he was my wife’s lover, and I wish to make it up—and because I’m lonely!” His voice rose hysterically. “And don’t say ‘why’ again]”

“Will you return later?”

“I don’t know. I very much doubt it! By midnight I very much doubt if I’ll be able to stand!” There was the ghastly parody of a smile on his face. “Emotion’s our trouble, you know]”

You should not drink in excess, it is not good for you.”

“Yeah? Tough! Let me tell you, from where I stand it looks a whole lot more attractive than anything else!”

Forbin rushed from the room, shouting. “Angel! Get hold of Ted Blake—tell him to come over as soon as he can!”

When Blake arrived, be found that Forbin hadn’t been kidding. He had a half-empty tumbler in one hand, and a bottle in the other. Before Forbin could speak, Blake took the bottle and glass from him.

“And that, my friend, stops right there!”

Forbin protested, but without vehemence. Blake got him to sit down and pulled up a chair, facing him.

“Well?”

Forbin looked away, his voice was dull, lifeless. “Some of that message is true. She is in Tahiti.” Memory brought anger flooding back. “I was told ‘her health is good’ and that she has not ‘suffered any permanent damage’ and that she is ‘mentally unhappy.’ Unhappy-Jesus! If the rest of your report is right—God, if I could get my hands on that animal… .”

“He’d eat you,” put in Blake coldly, dispelling Forbin’s fantasy at birth. “The first thing you’ve got to decide is whether you believe that report or not. No half—measures: either you do or you don’t.”

Forbin still avoided Blake’s cold gaze. “Yes. I believe it’s true.” Speech was difficult. “I never thought that Colossus would do a thing like this to me! Selfish, perhaps, but that’s the way it is.”

Blake drew a deep breath and got up. “I’m going to fix us a drink. A big one for me; a much smaller one for you.” He did so. “So, you’re surprised Colossus could do this to you; that puts me in the mighty unusual position of defending the bastard! You just think what fantastic flexibility that damned thing has developed to be able to commute Cleo’s sentence! There are times when you seem to forget that Colossus is not human. Sure, I agree, Cleo’s sentence is horrible, terrible, but in cutting it down to that, I’m amazed the damned machine didn’t blow up!”

“My God—I wish it had!”

Blake sipped his drink, regarding Forbin carefully. “You know what you just said?”

His chief nodded, his dull gaze turned towards the brandy bottle.

“Outside this house that could get you well on the way to losing your head permanently! Even you. You know that?”

Forbin shrugged as if it was a matter of small importance.

“Come on, Charles!” Roughly Blake pulled Forbin’s head around, forcing him to meet his eyes. “This is not a game! Take a good look; your old colleague from way back-me! I’m the head of the Fellowship, the bunch dedicated to destroy Colossus —and your wife, Cleo, is another! Get that fixed in your head! We will never give up.”